


Search Comes to High Reaches

by ScribbleJotterAmy



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5356943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribbleJotterAmy/pseuds/ScribbleJotterAmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Ingva is summoned to serve klah and pastries to the Dragonriders when they come on Search.  She's not sure if her Grandfather wants her to be searched or not as she is his heir.  She knows her own mind on the matter, she'd like to escape the life of a glorified brood mare, but sacrifices her chance to impress the bronze rider because her prettier cousins are scared of the dragons, so she choses to serve the wingriders, and Blue Menath is very friendly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Search Comes to High Reaches

Search Comes to High Reaches

"Ingva! Ingva! Where are you girl?"

Ingva cringed as she finished measuring the spice out for the cook. Her mother's voice always sounded so screechy.  
"I'm down here!" She called, swiftly replacing the tub and locking the doors to the spice cupboard. She hurried towards her mother's voice through the stacks and shelves of sacks and barrels of hold stores.

"Ing- Oh!" Her mother started as they almost collided in the main aisle.

"You wanted me mother?"

Lady Shevara looked momentarily flustered, but soon regained her composure. "There are dragonriders in the cot holds. They Search. They'll be at the hold soon. You are to be present to welcome them, Lord Ingron's orders." Shevara briefly examined her daughter, and the approval on her face told Ingva that her mother was pleased to note the tidy appearance. "At least you are well presented, but why are you hiding in here?"

"Madaren sent me for spices for the wherry roast."

Shevara nodded.

"Well we must pass through the kitchens with to reach the hall, you can give them to her on the way. Thankfully you don't need to change."  
They walked briskly through the plain service corridors, the cool pastry kitchen and up into the furnace hot main kitchens. Shevara called Madaren the High Reaches Hold's head Chef over and discussed what could be served to the dragonriders. Ingva handed over the requested spices. She slipped away quickly after that leaving her mother to take charge to give herself a little time to do what she could to further smarten herself up. There was no evidence in the records that appearance helped with the search. By all accounts even drudges of the right ages and 'type' were searched by the riders, but it couldn't hurt. Besides, it was a point of Hold Pride to appear neatly and well presented. Her grandfather had high standards and wouldn't let the poorly presented to appear, search or no search. She went to the great hall by way of the long gallery where the hold had a full length reflecting glass. 

She saw a few minor dust smudges on her skirts which she quickly shook out, and she tucked an errant curl back up into her bun, pinched her cheeks to bring out a glow, and bit her lips to do likewise. Satisfied she was as neat and presentable as she was ever likely to be in such a short time, she swept through the doors rich blue skirts swishing in her wake. Her grandfather Lord Holder Ingron and her father Lord Innovar were together by the doors in low conversation with the steward and some of her uncles.

"Father! My lord." She swept and elegant curtsey to her father and grandfather then stood strait, almost at attention.

They swept an appraising glance over her as other nieces, nephews and grandchildren also appeared in the hall in varying states of presentability. Lord Ingron grunted, seemed satisfied and dismissed her from his notice, rounding instead on Ingva's cousin Selaga.

She was a plump girl, not too bright, but as kind as kind could be, and very good with the holds pets. Ingva felt sympathy for the girl who more often than any other of her relations attracted their grandfather's ire. It was not the girl's fault she took after her mother with her frizzy hair and in retaining flesh despite her best efforts to be as slim as the rest of her cousins. "You are not fit to be seen in the hold, let alone be presented to dragonriders. Return to your quarters and change into something presentable." Ingron ordered. Selaga looked crushed. Ingva threw her a sympathetic glance. Selaga grimaced before picking up her skirts and racing away, her thick dark hair bobbing in time to her steps.

"The rest of you form lines. Wait until you are called." Ingron told the rest. He surveyed them again once they had complied with his orders, formed up in neat lines, eldest at the back, youngest at the front so all could be seen. He searched out those elder of the grandchildren and nieces and nephews who were best presented for the outside welcoming party. "Kalon, Serran, Ingoveran, you are with us." He told his nephews. "Ingva!" She looked up sharply from where she had been staring after her unfortunate cousin "Go to the kitchens, bring up trays of Klah, hot spiced wine and the sweet pastries for the riders."

Now this was an interesting turn of events. Getting to serve the dragonriders? That was an unprecedented boon from her grandfather. He never trusted girls with serving the riders when they visited after fall...something to do with bronze riders and one of the serving girls getting with child a few years ago that she was not supposed to know about...Ingva wondered what was afoot...then she remembered the drumrolls...a queen egg had been laid at the Weyr nearly a month ago. Was her grandfather trying to make sure she was searched? A granddaughter as a queen rider could provide considerable prestige at the Lord Holder's convocation's, not to mention potential heft when it came to negotiating the tithes to the weyr. He was mercentary enough that it wouldn't surprise her if that was his thoughts on the matter. "Yes Grandfather." She curtsied to hide the hopeful smile on her face, arranged her features so they looked suitably serious, and glided out of the hall.

"Well at least one of you knows how to behave." Ingron muttered as she retreated. "Innara, Seleria go and help her." He added after surveying the rest of her cousins. Ingva was not surprised at the choices. They were the prettiest of the cousins possibly meant to distract the riders away from looking too closely at herself, but they weren't smart. Did Ingron really want her to be searched? Or was sending his granddaughter to serve the riders merely to honour them? It could be either. She thought her looks were only passable whenever she saw herself in the reflecting glass. Her hair was a rather insipid shade of brown, for all it shined from good care and her eyes were grey. She was fairly certain that she'd been singled out for her manners rather than her looks. She was her father's heir until her mother presented her father with a son and she doubted she'd be permitted to be searched. 

Furthermore, she was contracted to Garaval the second son of Lord Halican of Fort. It would be awkward to break the contract, though any of her cousins would have served as well as his lady in her place. Garaval was twice her age, and it was not a match she was looking forward to with joy. They had met only twice, and on both occasions she'd found him to be a crashing boor, interested only in runnerbeasts and wine. She would not be surprised if wenching didn't come into the equation as well. It was certainly a feature Lord Halican and Garaval's and brothers had in common if what she'd heard was true. She didn't want to be a brood mare like her mother, and she wouldn't take hold until both her her father and grandfather had died, at which point there would be a strong argument for any son she bore taking on the running of the hold. If the dragons chose her, she could be free of that, and if the price was fighting thread for the rest of her life on a green? It was a worthier cause than breeding for the hold. But fighting thread that was unlikely even if she did impress. For all the riders were trying to drum up the holders saying the red star was approaching, and all the signs were there for an approaching pass, they'd done that two hundred turns back, and nothing had come of it. Her grandfather was of the opinion that there would be no thread ever again. Ingva was inclined to agree. Besides, her mother was pregnant again though it was yet to show. She knew her grandfather hoped Shevara would finally bear a boy to term and that it would live past it's second turn. Her parent's hoped for a son too, and that would push her out of the line of succession, and if they did have a boy, where would that leave her? Married of to Garaval, and shipped off to Fort with nothing to do but be a brood mare rather than living at home in comfort, and assisting her grandfather and father until the time came for her to take hold… or she died in childbirth as so many women did, far better to ride a fighting dragon.

Well, she'd worry about all that when the time came. She'd do her duty to the hold if she remained. She was too well trained not to. It didn't mean she was overjoyed to do so. Right now her job was to carry the klah and sweetmeats to the dragonriders, and hopefully they'd notice her and she's be searched. She grinned at Innara and Seleria as they caught up to her with faces well controlled, but eyes sparkling. Only when they were out of earshot of the hall did they allow their excitement to overflow into discussion of the turn of events. They were giggling at the comparisons between the bronze riders and wondering which had come to the hold as they entered the kitchen. Lady Shevara already had matters well in hand and the drudges were assembling the trays. She looked up at the sound of giggling.

"Girls, what are you doing here?" She looked surprised to see them.

"Grandfather said we were to serve the riders mother." Ingva told her, unable to hide the growing excitement of being so close to riders and the magnificent dragons. She couldn't control the broad smile on her face.

Her mother looked sharply at her, but nodded. "Here, take this tray." she said, handing off the tray with several wine glasses and klah mugs and a plate of piping hot savoury pastries filled with spices and root vegetables that were Madaren's speciality. "Don't spill anything." Shevara called after her as Ingva glided with practised ease towards the stairs. Serving her grandfather in his quarters in the evenings had it's benefits. The glasses barely rattled.

She took the servants passageways to the outer court. Her cousins were at her heels behind her with only slightly less ease. They emerged into the chilly autumn day just as the great bronze dragon landed in the courtyard. The rest of the wing, brown's blues and two browns were already on the ground. Her grandfather, father and the aunts and uncles were arrayed with the selected cousins on the steps to the main hall. Innara shuddered beside her her "They're so big!" she exclaimed, sounding scared.

"They're gorgeous." Ingva replied, her tone longing as she took in the dragons. She'd never been so close to them before. Up close the bronze dragon was immense, his hide glimmering even in the weak sunlight of the late autumn day. The browns were to either side of the courtyard, almost twins to her eyes, a solid nut brown. The blues and greens had more variation in colour. The nearest was a blue, a deep dark shade almost the same colour as the sky at twilight just before true night came on with a swirl of paler blue across his withers, and a stripe of paler blue skin on his flank, that was ridged and mottled in colour. Scar tissue. Did dragons fight one another?

Despite the evidence of his injury he was beautiful. Lithe and muscular, not as bulky as the larger colours, or as dainty looking as the greens and blue was her favourite colour. He rustled his wings and shifted turning to stare at her and Ingva suddenly realised she was staring at him, and snatched her eyes away. Seleria cringed away from the dragon's regard, and Innara squealed but Ingva wasn't scared. The eyes were a hypnotic mix of green and blue swirling around and around and she realised she was staring again. Remembering that she was supposed to be greeting the dragonriders with hospitality, and hoping she was doing the right thing she made a decision. The bronze rider surely decided who was suitable for the weyr. She took pity on her terrified cousins, and sacrificed her chance at being searched. "Seleria, Innara, go to grandfather with your trays. I'll circulate this one through the wing riders."

She made her way towards the rider who had dismounted on the off side of the blue dragon leaving her cousins behind.

They slowly followed her out, keeping themselves pressed to the wall of the courtyard and skirting the dragons. She could hear the clink of the cups on Innara's tray jittering together with her nerves, and saw Seleria cringe away from the pale green dragon she was passing when it sneezed. She couldn't think why they were so scared. They knew the dragons protected Pern. Surely they realised that meant that they'd never harm women?

"A drink bluerider?" She asked politely as she approached the tall lanky man.

"Yes please, do you have klah? Ah yes you do." He reached to take one of the steaming mugs from the tray, and grabbed the tray to steady it as a nudge from behind had her gasping in surprise, and nearly spilling the contents of the tray over him.

"Menath! Behave." The rider said crisply looking behind her. The feeling of pressure subsided, and a rumble sounded from behind her. She looked around after takign a firmer grip on the tray. "Sorry." The rider said, removing his goggles and smiling. "Menath likes to tease. I hope he did not frighten you?" He took a mug.

Ingva stared at the dragon. Were the eyes were whirling more quickly? Or was that just a trick of the light? Was that normal? "I'm, alright blue rider…" she had no idea what his name was, for all he'd identified his dragon. She cursed not having kept up to date with the names of the lesser dragons in the weyr.

"G'dren"

She nodded. "I was not harmed, only…surprised." She continued staring at the dragon, captivated by his whirling eyes, the skin looked like velvet and she wondered if it was as soft.

"Would you like to touch him?"

Ingva dragged her eyes away "I'm sorry, I do not mean to stare."

G'dren smiled at her. "Stare away. A dragon is always worth a good look and he is a handsome fellow. Touch him if you like, he won't mind it from you."

She bit her lip, undecided, She really should continue circulating the drinks, but…. She balanced the tray on one arm and slowly stretched out her hand. Menath stretched his muzzle towards her snuffling. It touched her hand, and her long fingers curved around the soft probing nose. The skin was warm and dry and fuzzy like velvet pulled back against the pile. She stroked it, and it flattened to sleek silky smoothness. "You are so beautiful." She murmured. The dragon rumbled and she snatched her hand away conscious of what she was doing, and her neglected duties to the hold. "I must serve the other riders." She told G'dren. "Thank you for letting me touch your dragon. He's lovely." She noticed his eyes were crossed slightly but he nodded to her and she continued to circulate cups of Klah and wine among the wing riders.

When she reached the hold doors, her tray considerably lighter her grandfather was in deep discussion with the wingleader. Clearly the rider wanted to search someone that her grandfather did not want to lose. He was scowling fiercely. The wingleader was gesticulating, her grandfather shaking his head. They probably wanted to search Ingoveran her eldest cousin. He had only just completed training as a hold steward, and was constantly in her grandfather's presence. Ingva and he frequently worked together. He'd make a good rider she thought. Brown at the least if not a bronze rider. Lord Ingron was always loathe to loose well trained men, he'd be even more so if they were trained to cater to his personal comfort. 

She recognised the wingleader as T'lan rider of Felicanth because his face, which must have once been handsome was badly scarred on the side facing her. She didn't not know how he had received the old wound, but it was a useful identifier. He had a goblet in his hands, so he'd clearly opted for wine, so she stepped to stand beside her father, silently offering him refreshment. He took a mug of klah wrapping his fingers around the mug, but not drinking. A drudge took the mostly empty tray from her. The argument with the wingleader was drawing to an end. Her grandfather was scowling deeply. "Very well." He snapped. "Your men can speak with the older boys. I have no objections to any of them being searched. This time. Do not make search too frequent an occurrence. It disrupts my hold." Lord Ingron glanced around. "She's over there by Innovar. You may speak with her." He said gesturing towards her. Ingva blinked. Surely they couldn't have been discussing her? 

Her mother was directing her younger cousins back into the hold, Ingva wasn't surprised. The riders believed a Pass was imminent and they'd want a dragon to be ready to fight as soon as it was grown and trained, they wouldn't want to wait for the rider to grow up as well.

The bronze rider turned and strode towards her. He was looking at her in an assessing kind of way which made Ingva's skin crawl. She'd seen that look on Lord Helican's face, as if he were undressing her with his eyes. She straightened her back, and stared at him challengingly.

"Wingleader T'lan." She greeted cordially.

"I appear to be at a disadvantage, Lady…?"

"Ingva, wingleader."

"Ah. That explains much."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Your grandfather is most reluctant that I speak with the young lady that Menath was so interested in. You are Lord Ingron's granddaughter and heir are you not?"

"I am."

"I would claim you on search to put to the queen egg. Your grandfather has given me permission to speak with you."

"Are you sure you don't merely wish to claim me wingleader T'lan?" She asked archly. "I know your reputation." He'd been the one to get the maid with child.

"Ingva." Her father said warningly. He sounded shocked but T'lan laughed."I do indeed have a reputation, but I would not dream of interfering with you. Once you are safely at the weyr you will be put in the charge of Green rider Soria, who is candidate mistress for girls who are searched. No one interferes with her candidates, and it's banned to interfere with weyrlings until they have graduated to the wings. The ladies are well guarded."

That suggested he'd tried, and failed to 'interfere' with a candidate or weyrling in the past. "That's good to know."

"If you chose to come to the weyr, you will be taking lessons on dragon care, and on how the weyr is organised and run. In addition to this, as you are hold-bred, you will be working in the lower caverns under the aegis of the headwoman, Crafters work under the in weyr master of their craft. Zenally will work you hard, but she is fair and at the weyr, everyone contributes to it's efficient running."

"You sound like you are trying to scare me off, wingleader."

"No, merely putting you in possession of the facts. You'd be surprised at how many holders and crafters think they get a free ride as a candidate."

"Ah." Ingva thought about the possibilities and opportunities that could open up for her at the weyr again for a few minutes, though she had already made her mind up.

"Will you accept the search my Lady?" T'lan asked deferentially.

Ingva glanced at her father, who smiled at her encouragingly. He'd only ever wanted the best for her, which hadn't always been what she had wanted – Garaval being a prime example - but he'd not stand in her way if impression was what she truly wanted. "I think I will wingleader." Her father reached out and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

T'lan's face brightened, and he smiled. It pulled the scar tissue on the side of his face into a disturbing rictus and Ingva wondered how he managed to get anyone into his bed. "Excellent, I will inform Lord Ingron of your decision."

"I'll come with you."

Lord Ingron, who had been observing the conversation from a distance grunted as they approached. "You want to go don't you?" he said gruffly.

"It would be an amazing opportunity for me to learn more about how a large establishment is run, even if I don't impress my lord. I'd be a fool not to think of all the opportunities that I could gain from a short stay at the Weyr."

"And what about your contracted marriage?"

Ingva hesitated. "My lord, if I impress, I am sure that Lord Helican would accept one of my cousins for Garaval. Innara is beautiful, and has been well trained to be a holders lady. She would be more than happy to take my place if Lord Helican is agreeable."

"And search has priority over a contract that has yet to be fulfilled." T'lan said.

“For the present.” Ingron said in a threatening tone. Ingva knew that he was going to go through with his plan to address the conclave about the increase in search and tithe requirements next time they met. The dragonriders were demanding too much of him, and doubtless the other lord holders would be amenable to the changes he wanted to propose for similar reasons.

"And what about your reputation? I know the weyr's morals are lax." Ingron said, looking boldly at T'lan, a scowl on his face

"As I said before my lord, your granddaughter will be too busy learning the ways of the Weyr to get into any trouble, and if you require further reassurance, I will personally guarantee that she will be returned to the hold as she left it." T'lan said, hand on his heart.

He really wanted to get her to the weyr. Surely she wasn't that important?...but then he'd said he wanted to put her to the gold egg...not just any egg. Could she impress the queen? Was she worthy of it? She was well trained in hold matters and a quick learner, but she wasn't beautiful as all the ballads said weyrwmen were. She was no flame haired Sorka, she had yet to hear a dragon speak, so she was certainly no Torene so she was not special in any way really. Probably best not to get her hopes up. Statistically it was more likely she'd get a green even if she was expected to get a gold. There was but one gold, and up to a half of a clutch could be green if the past impressions that had been drummed to the hold over the years were anything to go by.

Lord Ingron scowled, annoyed that he had been so easily read by the rider. "Fine, but she will be returned as she left, or she isn't to return at all." Then he gestured to Ingva. "Go girl, gather what you need and say your goodbyes. It wouldn't do to keep the rider waiting."

Just like that he dismissed her. She went to her parents first. They were far more ecstatic than her grandfather at the prospect of having her on the hatching sands. They embraced her and led her into the hall, talking excitedly, offering her advice, everything loving parents would do. She'd miss them. Her cousins were congratulating her too. She saw that two of the boys had also been picked out. Ingarr and Anerand, not surprising choices, she knew they were devoted to one another, though they kept THAT well hidden from anyone in authority. She'd accidentally stumbled upon them sharing an intimacy, and had agreed to keep silent on the matter – for a price. The riders had selected two of the cot holders boys and a craft journeyman from the miners as well. She dredged up the name...Namron he thought he was called. But everything became a whirl of activity after that.

Her mother helped her pack, tucking in small items and keepsakes she thought Ingva might need, that Ingva herself hadn't thought of. A drudge came in during the packing bearing a cloth bag and a note.

"Oh, it's from grandfather." Ingva said, surprised as she read the note. "Something you will need for the sands. They were meant to be a birthing day gift, I've had extra layers added by the cobbler. I suppose you deserve them for being searched. Don't let the riders take advantage of you, don't let being my grand daughter go to your head at the Weyr. Always think about the honour of your hold. Riding green is as honourable as riding gold. I am proud of you my grand daughter, whatever happens, you have learned your lessons well and will make as fine a Weyrwoman as you would Lady Holder. The good wishes of the hold go with you. Love, Ingron."

He did care.

Ingva wiped a tear from her eye. He may be crusty and crotchety and old and grumpy but he truly did care, when it mattered, just as a grandfather should. He was proud she had been searched.

It finally hit her. "I've been searched." She whispered. "I'm a candidate."


End file.
